


Confused and Corrupted

by Dash (Cydney)



Category: The Legend of Zelda: Hyrule Warriors
Genre: F/M, Hyrule warriors - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-20
Updated: 2014-10-20
Packaged: 2018-02-21 22:15:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2484254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cydney/pseuds/Dash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Volga worships Cia. She is his purpose, his Mistress. In a swirling mind of chaos, she is clarity itself. And if she twists herself into something darker, he will prove he is still worthy of her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Confused and Corrupted

**Confused and Corrupted**

* * *

 

**_I do not own The Legend of Zelda, Hyrule Warriors, nor the characters used within, nor do I make any money from this piece of fiction._ **

For as long as Volga was self aware, there was confusion. Memories and thoughts would choke his mind like a thick miasma. In the few moments when he was at peace, he would be visited with images of another time. Resting in the warm embrace of lava, or a ring of clouds that circled a high volcano.

More than peace, he knew rage. There was a hunger for warm flesh, or a territorial instinct to destroy all outsiders. To scorch the earth around him and let all know who he was.

And then, most of all, there was _her_. She invaded his scattered thoughts, clear and welcoming.

“You will be my General,” she would say, snowy locks and dark skin contrasting gorgeously. “My right hand, you will bring my order to all. You will bring me the world.” Her image was sharp in the fog of his mind. She was a driving force for him to take and hold. Her will was his. If she wanted it, he would bring her the world.

He would _burn it_ for her.

Cia brought clarity to what he was, and for that, he wanted her. He _needed_ her.

But she wanted more.

“More,” she hummed down at him, thighs parting further as her legs shook on his shoulders. Her underwear was showing traces of her arousal, and it would bring lower instincts roaring to life. She would gasp and giggle with delight as Volga teased her. Rough fingers would stroke her through the shield, making her writhe and grow wet. Her lips were clear to see and he would descend to stroke her with his tongue.

She would mewl and shake, coming apart from his eager teasing. It only made him want her more. To taste her, probe her, to roll her over and take her, deep and rough. But she made it very clear that it was _not_ for him.

“I can hurt you,” she warned, when his eager hands began pushing her underwear to the side. “That’s not yours to look upon.”   
“What do you want?” he growled, frustration choking his thoughts. But she would still break through the haze, smiling down towards him.   
“I want you to bring me what I _deserve_ ,” she whispered, the embodiment of confidence and desire.

His Cia deserved everything, he decided.

When she allowed him to be loose, he relished the challenge. Battle was chaos. There was fear and anger and bloodshed, and all that he knew well. Volga lived in the chaos. He _was_ the chaos. And he tore through it like the flaming wraith he was. Even when he took to the sky, the ground still trembled. Their foes cooked. His frustration would rage, and he would bring his Cia her victory on all fronts.

And then there was _him_.

How rare to encounter someone so courageous. As if he never knew fear or death. He was silent, too – perhaps he had never acknowledged them? But these deep thoughts were beyond Volga. Cia demanded victory, and this grassy knight was a hindrance.

“It’s rare I talk more than my prey,” he growled, grinning hungrily.

It was rarer still to taste bitter defeat.

************

When he awoke, she was there with him, fingers tracing the ragged slash that the green youth had left him with. It seemed these were much more stubborn to heal.

“Don’t worry,” she said, her voice a dark velvet that sent his instincts wild. “I’ll make it all better.” Of course she would, he thought. She was magic. She was _perfect_. And he watched as she began repair the wound with practiced ease.

“You are fortunate,” she said distantly, as though talking to someone else. “I am stronger now, don’t you know? I am Power itself.” The flesh stung as she moved, knitting skin back to bone.   
“I am as fated to you now as any of _them_ ,” she continued, and Volga really looked at her, as though for the first time.

She was darker now. Where there was once confidence, there now lay corruption. Passion was crooked. Her features had taken a sharper look, accentuating her desirable form. She was different – powerful and wicked, and all the more beautiful because of it.

“Look,” she said, and for the first time she addressed him properly. Her work was done, but a bright, ragged scar marred his flesh. “I can’t make it go,” she said. But she was… _excited_?   
“You can do anything,” he rumbled, and this time he picked up the scent of her arousal. She was actually, literally, excited.  
“Not this,” she said, her lips pulling back into a knowing smile. “Not _his_ work. It’s _perfect_.”

Her arousal peaked as she traced the tissue, before she rose and left him, her thighs rubbing together as she walked.

Bitter realisation struck him hard. She wasn’t admiring him, nor his powerful form. She was absolutely enthralled with the savage blow that had brought him down. The unassuming youth with the green clothes and hat that stopped him.

His Cia wanted _him_. And bitterness became pure rage.

* * *

Volga met them again among the clouds of Skyloft, while he tore the very enchanted earth apart. Here, he decided, was where he would prove his worth. Not even some bloated, flying whale of a creature could match his power.

Nor that brat with the blue scarf. Volga would tear the land from its heavenly perch, and when there was nowhere else for his prey to hide, he would devour the boy in his dragon’s maw.

But the blasted boy was not mired down in instinct and chaos like he himself was. This so called Hero could think and adapt as he went, bringing his sword to bare on those disgusting troops that his Cia had sent him with.

The boy also had allies, he discovered. Some spinning blue creature with the taint of the divine danced about, severing his men as neatly as any blade. Not to mention the meddling Great Fairy.

The youth bested him again, and this time was much harder than the last. Volga had pushed and burned. He had slaughtered so many that day, all for _her_. And when he could not push himself more, the boy raised his sword high and brought it down.

When he pushed himself out of the clouds of confusion, he was back at Cia’s side. She wore a look of indifference this time, however, and the feeling of shame he felt was worse than the pain he felt from the attack.

“Your enemy is strong,” he rumbled. She knew that, admired it even. But she wasn’t interested in excuses, and turned away from him.  
“The Royal army is my enemy. He is my _prize_ ,” she corrected, and a piece of his sanity cracked and vanished.  
“Why?!” he demanded, and she whirled and struck him across the jaw with her staff. The reprimand hurt worse than the blow.

“Because he’s mine!” she hissed, and her beautiful features twisted into anger. “I’ve suffered for him. I _deserve_ him! And _you_ are in no place to ask why.” She rose to her feet, arms crossing beneath her chest and glaring down at the fallen warrior. “Do you think I’m blind, Volga? Or stupid? Do you think I haven’t noticed you staring? How you _grow_ because of me?” She unceremoniously poked his privates with the end of her staff, and he hissed from the contact.

“What do expect of him?” he growled, feeling embarrassed and angry. “That boy lives in the light. Do you think he’ll stay that way _if_ you get him?” He pushed himself from where he lay, bruised and wounded, but still a force of raging flames.  
“Corrupt him,” he pushed. “And he’ll be only half as twisted and strong as you made me.”

“Oh, Volga,” she sighed, and he could almost feel the pity rolling off her in waves. “Don’t you know? _When_ I get him, there won’t be any more war. I’ll have my victory, and none of this will be needed.” He barely recognized the crazed look on her face as she spoke. She was so different now. “And you won’t be, either,” she finished, before turning on her heel and leaving.

His Cia had changed. She was more twisted, more wicked. And it was irresistible, even if it warped her mind. It must have, for her to think this mere child was superior to him. Let her think what she wanted to, for now. Volga would show her. He was already a creature of strength and anger. He would embrace the instincts that guided him through the chaos his existence brought. He would show her how fragile the object of her affection was when he tore the boy in half, and scattered him across the battlefield. And she would have no choice but to see him as worthy.

* * *

The keep had long ago fallen to the forces he led, but Volga did not relent. He shifted his shape, drawing the Hyrulian arm towards him where he struck them down with his lance. The ground was stained with blood, but he wouldn’t be satisfied until it was sodden. A glassy red stronghold to strike terror into Cia’s enemies.

The boy came, naturally. After murdering so many of his fellow soldiers, Volga had assured himself of it. This would bring their stalemate to an end, he decided. The boy would be broken by the sight of his fallen comrades, before being impaled upon his lance. Even if he was now equipped with a sharper, finer blade…

When he later roused himself awake, the surroundings were unfamiliar to him. They were CIa’s temple – only she would have such a fine sense of style. But the room was dank and cold. Stale blood scented the air, metallic to his nose and stirring an instinct to feed. The only remarkable addition was a wooden shelf, with several jars resting atop it.

“Ahh, we’re awake, are we?” He wanted to groan, but as he shifted, his body wracked with pain. Wizzro seemed to giggle at that, a truly haunting sound in the small room. “The Mistress had to put you back together again,” it slurred, whisking into the knight’s field of vision.

“She even had to use what was left to make you…” It drifted off, tone light and airy, and Volga’s lips pulled back in a nasty snarl.  
“Stop speaking riddles,” he seethed. Nuisance spirit. But Wizzro whirled at this, mock surprise in its actions.  
“You mean you don’t know?” it asked, before chuckling and swishing in the air towards the wooden shelf.

“Do you know who this is?” it asked, pausing for only a second before its lips curled into a tight grin. “It’s Ghirahim.”  
Volga frowned. Ghirahim was gone, banished by the youth. He didn’t even survive a single encounter with the boy. Proof again, he thought, that _he_ was clearly Cia’s most impressive General.

“Oh sure,” the poe continued. “He may seem quieter now, thank the Goddess, but he’s in there. Zant in _that_ one, too.” The jar was dropped back onto the shelf, and Wizzro toyed with the idea of upending the lot of them, before turning its attention back at the wounded knight.   
“The Mistress is keeping them around… just in case,” it explained. “But you? Oh, she had to use up the whole bottle. And I _told_ her, it’s not like the stock was good to begin with!”

Volga growled, trying to push himself up, to reach out and throttle the spirit, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. Wizzro hovered just out of reach, humming to itself.  
“That’s what you get when you use a bunch of bones and ashes to make a man,” it mused. “And I said to her, ‘But Mistress! You won’t have any more to bring him back!’ And you know what?” It slowly crept closer, until Volga could smell the dirty sheet that made up its form.

“I don’t think she cares anymore.”  
Volga roared, causing the spirit to cackle and flit above him, until there was a bang and light filled the room.

“Leave,” came the voice, and Wizzro’s mood popped like a balloon. It bowed and swept away, before a creaking door closed and the light dimmed. Even for a voice that malicious and cold, only one person could command such respect from the poe.

It felt like a lifetime before Cia stepped into the light, her features a mixture of disgust and shame. Had she always been so sharp and pinched? Wasn’t she softer, once, so long ago? Impossible, he thought. She was always like this. Dark and terrible, and he would allow himself to follow her right over the brink of madness.

He probably already had.

“What was your goal?” she asked coldly. “Have you actually lost what little mind I was able to carve out of that dragon skull?” So, the poe was being honest. But it changed nothing. He was her General, and she… She had lost patience with him.

“I fight for you,” he murmured, but she glared in annoyance.  
“You fight to _rut_ me,” she hissed, before sweeping her hand across the slope of her breast. “You fight so I’ll take you to bed and ride you like the beast you are.” She was angry, her mere presence radiating venom and spite. Volga could almost feel some terrible power within her shift.

But worse, everything she said was true. And between her words and her rage, so familiar to him, he couldn’t help the reaction it was causing. Mercy, but she was still perfect, even if he was a disgrace to her.

“Just look at you,” she seethed, aware of what was happening. “You let _this_ rule you.” And he gasped as she grabbed him, feeling her hand tighten around his hard length. Distantly, he realised – the blasted spirit had seen him naked. He’d been undressed the whole time. His Cia truly had put him back together again.

“You think this is special?” she asked, and she gave it a firm pump with her hand. He almost moaned, but he didn’t dare, lest she stop. “You think you’re _impressive_?” she continued. “Or are you really just all instinct?” ‘ _No,’_ he wanted to say, even if she may be right. But her hand tightened, moving harder, and he was growing too embarrassed to answer.

“Maybe that’s it,” she mused, spinning her hand as she jerked him off, leaning down and watching him with an unamused look. “You don’t even want to take a lady to bed – you just want to get your cock wet, like a beast.” Volga was growing more ashamed by the second. She was tearing down all that he thought he was, and he was powerless to stop her. Even if he could move, after desiring her for so long, her hand was keeping him from reacting.

“And _that_ is why you’ll never replace _him_ ,” she whispered, and what fragile grips he had on his perception began to break. His mind was growing cloudy again. The confusing fog was starting to choke. “Now hurry up and finish – this is the most you’ll ever get from me.” Her hand tightened around his shaft and she pumped, hard and quick, almost mechanically, until Volga couldn’t hold back his climax.

Cia let go and didn’t bother to watch as he bucked off the table and came. When his seed landed on his chest, hot and wet, the last of his pride vanished like smoke.

It wasn’t the boy that defeated him – it was her.

“Now,” she said, raising her staff and aiming it towards his scarred, sticky body. “Let’s see if I can salvage you.”

The fog blanketed his mind.

* * *

“I thought you had pride! You had honour!” The little one was calling to him. Who was she?

Enemy, yes. She was the enemy. The Princess was the enemy, and the youth was the prize. Volga lunged towards the pair of them with a blood-curdling roar, lance coming down only to be blocked by a shield. He struck again, hoping to take the little one’s head off, before being deflected by the other’s sword. Pain raced through his arm.

“Stop and _think_ – you’re better than this!”

Better? Better than what? Was he, once? Better…  
Yes. He was better – he had been better than the boy. Better than being just a beast, even if it meant railing against his own instincts.

He had been someone, once. The revelation came, clear as the day, and the fog lifted from his mind.  
He had barely noticed the youth’s sword pierce his chest, firmly lodging between his ribs before drawing back, slicing as it did. It didn’t matter. The veil had lifted, and he had no regrets.

Volga’s self awareness was dimming, the light fading. But he wasn’t visited by Cia’s image. Rather, his thoughts were of warm lava, and the halo of clouds over Death Mountain.

He was grateful to have them visit his mind once more.

* * *

 

 


End file.
